


Unforgettable

by MysticPuma



Series: Sherlock One-shots [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:36:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticPuma/pseuds/MysticPuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Unforgettable, that's what you are<br/>Unforgettable though near or far<br/>Like a song of love that clings to me<br/>How the thought of you does things to me<br/>Never before has someone been more</p>
<p>Unforgettable in every way<br/>And forever more, that's how you'll stay<br/>That's why, darling, it's incredible<br/>That someone so unforgettable<br/>Thinks that I am unforgettable too"</p>
<p>Since Sherlock died, John hasn't really dated; since he realised he'd loved Sherlock. It's been three years, and John still hasn't forgotten…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforgettable

**Author's Note:**

> This one was a request for lyraeliowy on fanfiction.net :)
> 
> Also... it turned into a bit of a cheesy song-fic, you've been warned :P

10pm. John sat in his chair, sipping tea like he always did. It was Friday. Lestrade had called by earlier, He had a day off and had suggested going to a singles bar. After Sherlock's death, he'd finally seen his wife for the cheater she was and he'd been single ever since.

The very thought of dating, to John, was revolting now. On that day, three years ago, his heart had shattered. People told him to pick up the pieces, forget about Sherlock and the feelings he'd accidentally developed for the detective.

But John hadn't exactly listened.

Yes, he'd picked them up. Every last piece. However, he did not try to piece them together. Instead, he left it shattered. Because piecing them together and moving on meant forgetting Sherlock. It meant forgetting his feelings. And that was impossible. No matter what, Sherlock was completely unforgettable.

John had never felt so at home with anybody else. No one had meant more to him than Sherlock had. Never before had someone been more important. This was why John couldn't date. Because he'd never feel right with anyone else. He had accepted that.

And so, he trudged on with his life; each day was the same routine: get up, eat, work, eat, sit, sleep. And of course around ten cups of tea added to this simple schedule.

Thinking about it, John knew he'd never have meant as much to Sherlock as Sherlock had meant to him. He'd never have held any special place in his heart, because the detective had never had a heart. But John held on to the fact that he'd been Sherlock's only real friend and companion. He strived to keep the happy memories alive.

Perhaps the point when he'd realised how much he cared had come too late… It was merely twelve hours between that moment and Sherlock's death.

They'd been on the run. Hand-cuffed together, and rushing through the back-alleys of London. John had begun to lag, so Sherlock twisted his hand in the cuffs.

"Take my hand!" he cried, his smooth baritone voice full of urgency and, after a moment, their hands were tightly clasped together.

"Now people will definitely talk…" John had said, but as he felt Sherlock's hand locked around his own, and a warmth spread from there, which covered his whole body, John had realised that he didn't care if they talked. Because he _wanted_ it to be more. More than just friends.

At that moment, John had felt _sure_ that Sherlock had a plan. He was certain that they'd make it through this alive. He would make sure of it. And then, when things had calmed down, he'd tell Sherlock how he felt, and even if he didn't feel the same, he'd have his friend, with his insults and experiments, his cheekbones and scarf, his coat and the collar that came with it.

But no.

Moriarty had had other plans. And John never forgot, would never forget, his feelings. The anger, the despair, but most importantly… the love.

John was broken from his reverie by a slam from downstairs. Mrs Hudson wouldn't go out this late would she? She was usually in bed…

John stood, placing his cup on the mantelpiece, and turned to the doorway. He heard the stairs creak and he gulped. If he died, at least he'd be with…

"Sherlock…?" he whispered, and the familiar dark coat stood in the doorway.

"John…"

John felt like his world had crumbled. Sherlock was alive… But that meant that for 3 years… John hadn't crossed his mind. John fell to his knees, unable to cope. For once, Sherlock seemed to realise what was wrong.

"I never forgot you, John." He said, more emotion in his voice than John had ever heard.

"Then…why?"

"Because Moriarty had a web of assassins… Trained on you. They never left. The slightest inklings that I was alive, and they would have killed you, John." Sherlock explained, and John thought he could see a tear roll down his cheek.

"You didn't… forget me?" John was stunned. "You didn't delete me?"

"I couldn't…" Sherlock stated. "Nor did I want to."

"Couldn't…?"

"How could I? You're unforgettable…" Sherlock trailed off, turning his face away in an attempt to hide the slight blush that had crept into his pale cheeks.

"You think I'm… unforgettable?" John couldn't breathe. Sherlock just nodded, the concept of such emotion had clogged his throat.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke or moved. Finally, Sherlock found his voice again, although he spoke to the floor.

"John, I-I'm so sorry. If you want me to leave, I will. I'm sure you have a life to lead."

"No." John said, firmly. Sherlock looked up, shocked. John stood.

"You don't want me to leave?" Sherlock asked, dumb-founded. "But I thought-"

"That I'd forget you?" Sherlock nodded. "Never."

"But your life-"

"I don't have one, Sherlock. You _were_ my life. You still are."

"John I-" but he stopped himself.

"What?"

"I missed you." He said finally, after a long moment of silence.

"I missed you too, Sherlock…"

They smiled weakly at each other. John's faded a little. It was now or never. Then Sherlock could choose to leave, if he wanted…

"Sherlock… I realised something… before you-"

"Jumped?" Sherlock offered. John flinched at the reminder.

"Y-yeah."

"What was it?" Sherlock asked. John hesitated.

"You've imprinted yourself of my memory… my mind… hy heart." He muttered quietly. "I know you don't really _have_ a heart, so I-I understand if you don't feel the same. But I just wanted you to know how I felt; how I feel."

Sherlock looked down. "You're wrong."

"Huh?"

"You're wrong… I do have a heart…"

"Oh?"

"You."

John stared at him. "Me?"

"Yes, you… You are my heart, John." Sherlock said, looking up to stare into John's eyes, and in his eyes, John saw decades of built up emotion, finally flooding into the world and wrapping around John, giving him a warm feeling, like he was finally complete again.

"You feel the same?" John asked. Sherlock nodded.

"I've never… Never before has someone been more…. More than just-"

"I know." John said, walking up to him. "I'm never going to forget you, okay? Or stop believing in you. I never did." He smiled up at Sherlock. "But, I think it's incredible that you… Someone like you, could feel that way. Think that I'm…"

"Unforgettable, too." Sherlock finished for him. John nodded, flushing bright red. "I love you, John." Sherlock said.

"I- I love you too… 'Lock…" John replied, with a grin. "I never thought…" but he was cut off by Sherlock leaning down to lock their lips together, and they clutched each other's hands, vowing silently never to forget each other, and never to leave each other's sides again.


End file.
